


Cold Hearts, Warm Nights, Gentle Music

by alexandriakeating



Series: Lonely Hearts Come Together [1]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Romance, a sweet little story for written for Christmas, she and Jareth come to terms with what as happened, years after Sarah beat the Labyrinth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexandriakeating/pseuds/alexandriakeating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is quickly approaching and Sarah is trying to make the best of it, despite her financial difficulties among other things. When she goes to a Christmas Eve Gala, she doesn't expect to see a familiar face in a similar place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Eve of Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was originally posted on FanFiction day-by-day during the holiday season. I'm now moving it to here.

A sharp, insistent pounding brought her from her unconscious slumber. With a moan, she wiped a handover her face and pushed her long, tangled chestnut locks out of her vivid green eyes. She blinked sleepily and stared at the clock next to her bed. The red digits blared 6:16.

 _For Christ's sake,_ she thought, _does she really have to be doing this so early in the day? And so near Christmas, too?_

The woman flipped on her stomach and buried her head into her pillows, hoping that her neighbor would stop playing around with her newest boyfriend.

Another series of pounding shuddered the framework of her apartment bedroom. _Apparently not._

The bleary-eyed woman looked up to her ceiling and yelled, "Keep it down up there! A private life is meant to be just that: private!"

Her angered words elicited a tinkling laugh from upstairs and several deep-throated comments on her personage, but they quieted down.

"Thank you," the woman whispered as she nestled her head back into her pillow. She pulled her sheets up to her chin, tightening the cocoon around her. She closed her eyes and tried to let sleep overcome her again, but her dreams were out of her reach now.

Her eyes flitted to either side of her form, and her heart sunk ever so slightly at the sight of no one next to her. She wasn't into one night stands like her upstairs neighbor, but that didn't mean she wasn't lonely for some companionship.

Lying in bed, the woman waited alone through the long hours until the sun began to peek through the window at the foot of her bed. The chestnut haired woman took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the warm, golden sun thawing her December chilled skin.

With a regretful sigh, she entangled her limbs from the confines of her pale blue sheets and set her feet on the cold floor. Shivers coursed through her body and the woman wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she ran to the bathroom. She bent over the tub into the shower and turned the hot water on. As warm steam began to shroud her bathroom, the woman risked peeling off her sleeping wear. Despite the warm air that surrounded her, goose bumps flowered up her legs and arms.

Once she had divulged herself of her clothing, she stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. The searing hot water cascaded down her body and hugged her curves. The woman took a deep breath and relaxed into the heat. She placed her head under the torrent of water and ran her fingers through her matted hair, trying to loosen the knots. After several minutes of failed attempts and rapidly cooling water, she gave up and quickly lathered shampoo in and rinsed it out the best she could, scrubbing her body off with the suds that fell from her hair.

As the water beating against her skin took on a cold edge, she shut the water out and threw the shower curtain open and stepped out of the shower into the foggy bathroom. She snatched a towel and quickly ran it over her body before bending at the waist, gathering her hair in the towel, twisting it and quickly standing back up, throwing it over her head. Leaving a small trail of water behind her, the woman padded her way to the small bathroom mirror.

Unable to see her reflection in it, the dripping wet woman ran an arm over the clouded mirror to create a small streak of visibility. She leaned forward and peered at her reflection. Her bright eyes sparkled vividly among the sea of pale skin that was her face and the barest traces of freckles danced across her nose and cheeks as if fairies had danced there and left their footprints behind. Most women were happy if they were able to outgrow freckles, but she was happy that she had grown into them. Since her young age of fifteen her eyes had brightened from that dull grass green color and the freckles had added some characteristic to her plain face. Now, she couldn't imagine her face without them. Her face without them wouldn't be the face of Sarah Williams at all.

With a grateful sigh at her changed appearance—not to mention the curves that had shortly began blossoming after her Run—Sarah unwrapped the towel from her hair, wrapped it around her naked body, and set to work with a brush at untangling her hair.

Her hair.

Her plain, pin-straight, chestnut hair. So many times throughout the past several years girls had gushed at how luscious it was, but she still couldn't see it. It tangled too easily. It was a simple color. And it had no character.

A harsh tug of her brush removed the last of the irritating tangles, and Sarah pulled her hair back into a ponytail, not wanting to worry about it. She couldn't get it to do anything. She couldn't get life into it. She couldn't get it to ever resemble how it was in— _the crystal_. With a shudder, Sarah pushed the unwanted memories into the furthest recesses of her mind and left the bathroom.

She walked to her dresser and pulled a draw open. She meandered through the contents, looking for something suitable to wear. She was going to visit her old college room-mate for the holidays since tomorrow and Christmas were already scheduled to be spent with her family. A smile tugged at the corner of Sarah's mouth in expectancy of seeing Toby soon.

Once she had pushed the contents of her drawers around for several minutes she finally settled for simple straight-legged, blacked jeans and a loose, white turtle-neck. She could always add a red belt if she wanted to be festive. After grabbing the necessary undergarments, she dropped the towel on the floor and quickly slipped her clothes of choice onto her personage. Sarah grabbed a pair of black socks and her towel off the floor. Stashing the towel back in the bathroom to dry, she emerged into her quaint living room and plopped down on the old, tan leather sofa. She crossed her legs one at a time and slipped on her socks.

_Errrrr—ruuuup_

Sarah bit her lip and rubbed a hand across her stomach. "I know," she scolded it. "You might have to wait though; I don't know what I have."

She was loathed to admit it to herself, to Toby, to her father, and—heaven's sake—her stepmother but things weren't going so well for her financially. She was lucky that she was managing to keep this small apartment. _No,_ she corrected herself, _I'm lucky the landowners are so sweet_. She wasn't one to take charity, but the old couple who owned the apartment complex had convinced her to rent an apartment for half the requested price. They claimed that the money she wasn't paying went to insurance for the apartment, and they felt comfortable with her living there and had no need to pay insurance, but Sarah knew that they just didn't want her without a roof over her head.

Sarah sat back and rubbed her temples in attempt to impede the migraine she felt fast upon her.

 _Coffee will do me good_ , she realized. She stood up and made her way to the cramped kitchen. She opened the coffee can and saw the half a scoop that resided at the bottom of the tin. With a sigh, Sarah closed the lid and opened her coffee maker, hoping she hadn't emptied the filter last time she made coffee. She hadn't. _Thank goodness_.

Hoping that weak coffee was better than no coffee, Sarah filled the coffee maker with a cup of water and turned it on. As the warm, rich scent began to permeate the kitchen, she took a deep breath and leaned her back against the counter, placing her hands behind her.

Hopefully I can get a job after Christmas, she wished quietly to herself. She had learned her lesson and stopped wishing out loud several years ago.

She hadn't been able to hold a steady job down, since she graduated college. Apparently, a major in Folklore and Mythology—even if from Harvard—wasn't a real winner with most employers. She had moved closer to home in an attempt to start anew and have a safety net just in case, but her father was hitting some rough patches as well, and Sarah couldn't bring it on herself to ask for help. She just told him she had missed home, and wanted to be back.

It was true. She had missed her father and Toby, even the ever controlling Karen—her strictness and structure had become a life preserve for Sarah during desperate times. It was nice being back home. The only downside was that a small town that had declining tourist numbers wasn't in desperate need of any workers. She had managed to be a performer in a local Theatre Troupe when they performed in the park on the open grounds, and she loved every moment working with them. The problem resided in the fact that they were volunteer based and no profit was made.

As the stream of brown brew ceased to pour into the coffee pot, Sarah switched the coffee maker off and blindly went through the motions of making herself her cup of coffee. She was now working as a sub here and there at the local elementary school. Some of the parents had questioned into her situation and as a result, she would get the odd babysitting job here and there with a decent pay. She was enjoying the imagination that the kids possessed and she was thinking about going back to college to get a degree—after she earned money to do so.

With the warm mug in her hands, Sarah wandered back into her living room. She made her way to the couch and was about to settled into when the beat up piano sitting against the far wall caught her attention. She adjusted her destination and moved her feet towards it. Releasing one hand from the mug, Sarah ran a hand absentmindedly over the keys of the old piano. She couldn't play, but she had taken pity on the old thing. She had found it almost a year ago sitting on a curb, broken and abandoned. She had tried her best to fix it, but when the man came in with crumpled clothes, greasy hair and sly grin and then demanded three times the amount it should've cost with his capability of being able to do only half the needed work, she had declined. She had contented herself with polishing the delicate instrument and ensuring its last days were spent in relative comfort.

As her fingers grazed the keys, she hit one too hard and a jarring chord hissed from its insides. Her heart clenched in sadness. The poor thing.

"What a pity," she whispered.

Sarah jumped and let out a small yelp of surprise.

_Brrriiiiiing. Brrriiiiiing._

Sarah gently set her coffee down on the top of the piano with a quick apology and dashed to the phone. A flittering hope fluttered against her chest. Maybe someone was calling back for a job interview. Lord knew she had applied to enough and had yet to hear any word back from a single one. She picked it up and set it next to her ear.

"Hello. Sarah Williams here."

"Ah, Sarah," her father's voice washed over her. "We were beginning to worry. I called earlier and you didn't answer."

"Sorry," she sighed, "I recently got up and immediately went to the shower."

"Ah, okay," she heard the chuckle in his voice before a volte-face. He nervously cleared his throat and said, "Sarah, we need to talk."

The fluttering hope morphed into a flailing fear. "Is everyone alright?" She questioned, trying to keep her voice light and airy.

"What? Oh—oh, yes of course they are!" He exclaimed, the humor entering his voice once again.

A small wave of relief washed over Sarah.

"It's just that Karen's boss called with a last minute party tomorrow night that requires her presence and she can't make it to the Christmas Eve Gala at the Harrison Hotel. I was wondering if you wished to be my date."

"That sounds wonderful, Dad." She'd always heard tell of the dance that her father's work arranged every Christmas Eve from her mother and then her stepmother. It had always sounded so wonderful, and since she was five she had always had the desire to go. "But what about Toby? And I don't know if I have the dress for such an occasion."

"Aunt Shelly arrived a couple hours ago. She'll gladly watch Toby," he resolutely declared, as if settling the matter.

The plain haired woman allowed herself a small laugh. "Great, Dad, but that still leaves the issue of my wardrobe."

"Sarah, dear, you look beautiful in anything. You can wear those old jeans of yours and that poet shirt and vest, and I'd proudly walk into that reception room with you on my arm."

Sarah felt a light blush spread across her cheeks. "Thanks, Dad, but I think I can find something better than that to wear."

His laughter was cut short by Karen yelling in the background. Her father let out a groan. "I've got to go. Last minute issues. I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow night, Sarah."

"Alright, Dad. See ya then."

With final "I love you"s, Sarah and her father hung up. The woman slumped against the counter and rested her forehead on the cool surface.

_Where am I going to find something to wear in such short notice?_

Then it hit her. Debbie was the same size as her, and she was already going over for a visit. Debbie could always be counted on to have the right clothing for every occasion.

With renewed vigor, Sarah jumped up and jogged over to the piano. She grabbed her lukewarm coffee and chugged it in three gulps. Placing it in the sink, she snatched her purse off the counter and headed out the door with a new determination towards her former roommate's house.

* * *

The under-clothed woman arrived at her friend's house with a numb face and stiff hands. She had walked two blocks before she had realized her lack of coat and gloves, but had decided to brave the last three blocks without their protection instead of going back.

She reached out a chapped hand and rang the doorbell rapidly, not giving her friend time to doubt she heard anything. The frozen woman only stopped when she heard a slew of curses floating through the door.

The door was roughly thrown open allowing a wave of warm air to wash of Sarah's cold form. She smiled at the brief relief and turned her eyes to meet the scrunched up face of Debbie.

Debbie's scowl melted from her face and mirth seeped into her warm brown eyes. "Sarah!" she exclaimed, wiping her floured hands off on a red apron that adorned the front of her over a pair of tattered jeans and sweater.

"Hey, Debs," Sarah replied meekly.

Debbie laughed and stepped out of her house, wrapping Sarah up into a tight hug. "Sorry, for those choice phrases there. I was in the middle of making my pie, and I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour!"

The floured woman pulled back and looked at her friend closely. A frown line creased in-between her eyes. She rubbed Sarah's arms and said, "You must be freezing. Come inside and have a nice cup of tea. Then you can tell me all about what newest event has you so worried."

Sarah laughed at her friend's ability to read her so easily. "Sounds wonderful, but I can't go in with you in my way."

Her former roommate stepped away from her open door with a large flourish and ushered Sarah in.

* * *

Sarah gratefully wrapped her frozen and stiff fingers around the warm mug of tea her friend had made her and let the warm seep into her body. Hopefully there was enough heat in its contents to restore her body temperature back to a bearable degree. Carefully, she brought the steaming liquid to her lips and let the bitter liquid glide over her tongue and down her throat, leaving a trail of warmth. She preferred sweetening her tea, but her friend insisted that it was sacrilegious to put anything into good tea.

Her vivid green eyes glanced over at her friend who was tentatively laying a piece of dough over the top of her apple pie. With a skilled hand, she cut the excess off and pinched the remains into a perfectly symmetrical crust. Her head bent in concentration, a few stray curls of amber hair fell from the sloppy bun that rested on top of her head.

Finally satisfied with her work, Debbie blew the stray strands out of her eyes and stood up. She picked up the pie and made her way to the oven. Flipping it open, she stuffed the pie in before sealing it away. With a light flush on her cheeks, she set the timer and sat down across from Sarah, taking a sip from her own mug.

"Now," she started, pulling her legs up on the chair and resting her elbow on her knee, "tell me what's going on."

Sarah trailed a finger along the rim of the mug and whispered, "I need a dress."

"What was that?" her friend questioned playfully. "I couldn't hear you."

"I need a dress," Sarah bit out with a glare at her friend who just shoved it off.

After taking another sip of the scalding liquid, she asked, "Why don't you buy one?"

With a groan the green-eyed girl set her head in her hands. "I can't. I can't even afford a gift for Toby, do you think I'd get a dress for myself."

"But, Sarah, you said—"

"I know what I said," she mumbled, "and I embellished it a bit."

A mug clunked against the table and a strong hand wrapped around Sarah's shoulder. "Sarah," her friend implored, "you should've told me you were having difficulty making ends meet. I might not have a lot, but I could help somehow."

Bright green eyes appeared through pale fingers and were followed by a small smile. "Thanks, Debs, but I don't want charity." She ran a shaky hand through the hair massed in her ponytail. "I just need a dress for the Christmas Eve Gala. Karen can't make it, so Dad asked me to go."

An impish grin curled across her friend's face and she stated, "Mmm, yes. I think I have just the dress for you."


	2. Christmas Eve

Sarah twisted a stray tendril of hair around her finger in attempt to get some life into it, but it stubbornly refused to do anything for her. The rest of her unruly, straight chestnut hair had willingly allowed itself to be pulled up in a high bun wrapped in pearls, except this one strand. _One strand._ With an aggravated sigh, the woman reached for her blush and put a thin layer of the pink powder on her cream cheeks.

As she had believed, Debbie came through with the perfect last minute dress for Sarah, but it had been harder than she thought. After finishing their mugs of tea, the amber haired woman had run into her room and rummaged through boxes in her closet muttering away. Once the timer had gone off and the rich smell of apple pie permeated the small house, her friend had pulled out at least six dresses in various colors and styles. Sarah had suffered through trying each one on for her friend as she sat there with a new mug of tea and a plate of her pie scrutinizing her in each.

With each dress she adorned, the more frustrated her friend had gotten. After ten different dresses, half the pie and four mugs of tea, Debbie had been ready to give up. Sarah had finally managed to convince her to let her eat a piece of pie, when the idea had struck her. She had taken off down the hall with Sarah's slice of pie tight in her grasp.

Frustrated with her friend's antics, Sarah had taken off after her only to discover her plate of pie sitting on the floor next to the ladder that led to the attic. Picking up her plate, she had made her way up the rickety wooden steps and peered into the attic.

Her senses had been assailed viciously. A cold breeze had chaffed her bare skin. A musty smell had taken siege of her airways. A deathly quiet had cloaked her ears. Her eyes had searched the gloom and discovered a soft, weak light over ten feet away from her. Huddled to the side of the light had been her friend standing precariously on the rafters rummaging through an old cardboard box that was miraculously still retaining its shape. Setting her plate on the side of the opening, Sarah had opened her mouth to call to her friend, but the stale taste that had rolled into her mouth and over her tongue, coating every inch of her throat, quickly shut it.

The chestnut haired woman had carefully pulled herself into the attic and clambered onto her feet. Her shoulders hunched at a painful angle, she had walked across a beam, briefly relieving early imaginings of being a gymnast, and had sat on an old chest in the corner near a dim flashlight.

Brow scrunched in thought, eyes blazing with determination, her amber haired friend had fiercely shoved her way through the garments that had lay hidden and long forgotten in the damaged box.

"My mother had this old evening dress that she would wear every Christmas Eve. You two have similar features. We were about the same size. If I can find it, it should fit," her friend had continued to trail off in her mumbled rant.

"Ah-ha!" She had finally exclaimed proudly, pulling a crimson red dress out of the box.

Sarah had carefully knelt down next to her friend and had reached out her hands, begging for the dress that was before her, her mouth agape in wonder, the irksome taste of the attic air and the bitter sweetness of the apple pie forgotten.

With a slight shake of her head, Sarah broke herself from her reverie. Debbie's mother's dress fit like a glove. It was an old thing, that was certain, and Sarah loved it even more for it. The blood-red crimson silk was soft between her fingers and hugged her curves. A low square neckline stopped shortly enough to remain modest but tantalizing low enough to leave any man pondering. The sleeves were loose and draped off her shoulders; they lightly brushed against her elbows in a lover's caress. The bodice was tight, and held her fiercely. A snug belt of claret velvet wrapped daintily under her swelled breasts. The skirt fell in a single cascade over her hips and out behind her. And finally, golden threadwork weaved its way around the hems the sleeves, the skirt and the neckline in an exquisite ivy and floral design.

_Yes,_ Sarah dared a smile, _Debbie definitely has a knack for finding the right outfit._

A sharp knock pulled the elegant woman out of her thoughts. With a smile dancing across her face, she grabbed a gold clutch and went to the door. She paused before opening it and called, "Who's there?"

"An old king who wishes to escort his princess to the ball," came her father's serious reply.

Sarah allowed herself a small laugh as she opened the door to find her father smartly clad in a white suit. Her mind briefly flashed to another man in all white, but she quickly banished him from her thoughts. He probably never gave her a second thought, why should she grace him with such an honor?

"You look nice, Dad. Karen's missing out."

Her father smiled at her. "I, however, am not. I get to spend my night with a beautiful young lady."

Sarah blushed at her father's compliment. He wasn't one to dish out flattery, so anything that sounded remotely like a compliment made her heart soar.

"You don't look half-bad yourself."

He held out his arm to her. "Shall we be going?"

After grabbing a white shawl on the peg next to the door and throwing it over her shoulders, she laid her hand lightly on her father's elbow. "Yes, we shall."

* * *

The car door opened and a blast of chill air brushed over Sarah. She turned in her seat and set one gold flat shoed foot on the pavement at a time. A hand entered her vision, and she gratefully latched onto it as it pulled her from the confines of the car.

Free from the safety barrier the car had created, the wind whipped around Sarah and pulled at her. Her eyes fell upon the grand hotel that rose in front of her. Golden light and warmth poured from the windows, and the lobby was decorated with a multitude of greens, reds and golds. A twelve foot tree stood proudly in the center of the lobby, adorned with drapes of gold garland and ruby red jewels. A star sat atop its head, a crown rightly deserved.

The stunning woman's bright green eyes scanned the multitude of unknown faces and clothed bodies that swarmed around her. Several of the unknown men and women would give pause to stare at her and whisper behind a hand, their burning and cruel eyes never leaving her face. Sarah swallowed the panic that was beginning to swell in her throat. This was too familiar. Just as her resolve faltered, her father appeared at her elbow and smiled at her encouragingly.

Sarah returned his honest gesture with a strained smile before turning back to face the lobby. Latched onto her father's arm for stability, she made her way into the lobby and deeper into the Christmas Eve Gala.

* * *

If the cold stares had felt familiar, the ballroom was the severest form of déjà vu Sarah had ever felt. The moment she had set foot into the Winter Wonderland decorated in gossamer white and adorned with crystals, she had immediately blanched. Her father, sensing her distress had ushered her to an empty table and set her down to find a drink.

With a turning stomach, the white beauty watched as the party-goers merrily went about their gay antics and shameless frivolity, completely unaware of the horror that she felt. Her eyes flitted over the room, nervously searching for his face. When her eyes fell only on sheer white sheets draping the walls, crystal chandeliers dripping with white beads, tall, golden candelabras holding sacrificial candles and drunken guests, relief flooded her mind while something else tore at her heart.

The music was a safe haven. It allowed her to ease herself into the atmosphere, and convince her father it was only a small dizzy spell because she hadn't eaten dinner. The music was bland. It was there, unassuming, lethargic and unemotional. She could distance herself from the whole event, and enjoy her father and his coworkers' company.

But as the night drew on, the enticing woman grew distant. Her smiles more hesitant and her eyes more reserved. The men chortled amongst themselves claiming that no one had caught her fancy. The women gossiped amongst themselves claiming the she was entirely too young to be sitting through such a night.

What no one knew was that a certain quiet strain of melody had caught the woman's attention. Try as she might to ignore it, its plaintive and haunting tune crept into her.

Quietly excusing herself from the table, Sarah set out with the determination of finding the source of the song that was resonating within her. Strolling into the lobby, she cocked her head and listened closely. Catching a strand of the melody, she followed it down a corridor of rooms until she stopped outside of a small gathering room. She pressed her ear to the door and heard the sounds of an expertly played piano flowing through the wood. But the expertise wasn't what caught her attention; it was the attention to detail, to the emotion, which snatched her. Sarah stood outside the door: her heart yearning to comfort the soul in pain that she knew was on the other side of the door.

Finally setting her resolve to meet the kindred spirit that sat on the other side of the door, playing what Sarah longed to express, she rested her hand on the door knob and quietly turned it, pushing the door open.

The room on the other side was at most a fourth of the size of the ballroom and less lavishly furnished. The dark walls and wood floors were bare, abandoned for another in this time of revelry. The only adornment it had was a gold chandelier that dripped rich, golden light hanging from the center of the room—and a grand piano, shoved in a corner. And it was who sat at the piano that hitched the breath in Sarah's throat.

His back was facing her, his shoulders and head slumped over the piano in concentration as his lithe and gloved fingers danced across the keys, stroking them and coaxing a melody from them. His wispy blonde hair was shortened, stopping just above his shoulders. She couldn't see his face from the angle he was sitting at, but she knew it was him.

It _had_ to be him.

_Who else could it be?_ Sarah was too preoccupied with her worry to notice that the song had stopped mid-climax. The pianist had let his hands fall from the keys and had turned his face towards the wine-red clad woman that stood in the doorway before him.

A gentle cough of the clearing of a throat brought Sarah back from her wonderings to the man who sat at the piano across the room from her. Her bright eyes fell in place with his mismatched ones, but something was off. His eyebrows were thin and simple, and his sharp features were duller, more human.

An unrestrained sigh passed her lips before she could monitor it. She bit her lip in embarrassment as she felt a faint flush rise to her cheeks.

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stumbled out. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. That was a beautiful piece you just played. Did you write it?"

He took in her nervous form and her attempt to divert attention wasn't lost on him, but he smirked and gladly accepted the praise from her. He gave a slight dip of the head and said, "One of my many talents."

Sarah took a deep breath and blew the stray tendril of hair out of her eyes. Nibbling at her lip, she slowly walked towards him. He turned from her and set his hands back on the gleaming white keys. His haunting melody once again filled the room and poured into her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to float on the eerie music this man's hands were able to create that so closely mirrored her soul: the pain, the ache, the loss, the loneliness, the desperate hope.

"How are you enjoying my song?" his deep, taunting voice asked.

_That voice_ —She opened her eyes once again and allowed herself a peek at his face and found it—lacking. _It can't be him_ , she tried to rationalize. _What purpose would he have here?_

"Quite well," she whispered. "It seems so alive."

A deep throated chuckle shook his frame. "It's a song, nothing more," he commented as his fingers continued to stroke the keys.

"Mhmm, yes," she said, licking her lips, her mouth rapidly drying.

"So tell me," he asked, never once faltering in his song, "why the pause when you saw me playing?”

The red clad figure moved closer to the elegantly black clad one until she stood at his elbow. "You reminded me of someone."

"From a long forgotten dream of a memory?" he prompted her.

Sarah dipped her head, and then realizing her probably couldn't see the action, she said meekly, "Yes."

"The wonderful thing about a song is that, if played the right way, it can show you your dreams."

"Is that why you wrote it? To show you your dreams?"

A sad smile crept across his face, before it turned into a smirk she knew all too well. "More-so another's than my own, but yes, you may say that it contains mine as well. We do share such a similar dream."

"Were you disappointed when you saw me standing in the door?"

"Oh," he bit out, "Now why the concern? Surely my heart is of no consequence to you."

"Perhaps," Sarah replied quietly, shifting her weight from foot to foot, attempting to relieve some of the pain that was coming from standing for so long.

Noticing her discomfort, the black clad man slid over slightly on the bench. With a small smile of gratitude, she sat down next him.

"All you had to do was ask," he told her.

Straining against the distraction of his fingers gliding over the glowing keys, she replied, "I've learned to be careful with my words."

He gave a brief guffaw, before straightening his face. "A wise lesson to learn," he observed.

After a moment of listening to the man's plaintive tune, Sarah swallowed and asked again, "So, were you disappointed?"

The man sighed and removed his hands from the piano. He leaned an elbow on the piano and turned to look at her, a passion hidden and beaten tame in his eyes. "Well," he drawled, "I was hoping for someone. A young woman I used to know, who isn't quite so young anymore. But she has changed more than I believed, and I doubt she needs me."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

The man shrugged his shoulders and stood in a fluid motion. "Well, I must get back. Time is short."

"But, aren't you going to finish the song?" Sarah implored.

"That was the end: my life until now. I cannot write what I do not know."

"But—"

"Perhaps, one day it will have an end and become the beginning of a beautiful dream. As for now, it remains a song, and nothing more," came his harsh and abrupt reply. With a slight bow of his head, the man turned and left the room.

Silence pressed in on Sarah as she turned back to face the instrument in front of her. She hesitantly reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips against the still-warm keys, a thrill surging through her.

_It had to be him,_ she thought. It couldn't be anyone but him. _What other person, human or not, could play such a sad song with such conviction and hope? And with such arrogance,_ she ended bitterly.

* * *

Sarah slid into her seat next to her father once again.

He turned to her with creased eyes. "Sarah, where have you—," he began but was cut off as the roar of clapping filled the large room.

Sarah averted her eyes from her father to the small stage on the far side of the room. A man in ostentatious pink coat stepped up to the mic. "Testing. Testing," came a slippery voice. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen and honored guests. We are pleased that you have been able to join us for our 50th Annual Christmas Eve Gala. It is my pleasure to say that we have a very talented guest this evening who has gratuitously agreed to grace us with his fine talents. Please join me in welcoming to the stage, Jared G. King!"

The roar of applause was deafening to Sarah as she looked around the room at the blithering, happy people clapping away without a care in the world. Sarah turned her eyes from them, a lip curled up in disgust, and laid them on a tall, black clad man with wispy blonde hair who had stepped on stage. The pink coated man held out a hand to his companion who shunned it at first before he double checked himself and gave it a brief jerk. As the peacock-like man began another boisterous speech, a little jingle caught Sarah's ear.

My phone! Bright green eyes swept across the table to see that the others had heard as well. A deep blush that could have rivaled her dress quickly spread across her cheeks.

"Sarah!" her dad chastised from the corner of his mouth.

With a quick apologetic smile, she snatched her clutch off the table and rummaged through it to find her phone. She finally found the glowing and jingling nuisance and was on the verge of killing it when the number gave her pause. Her eyes bright with a hope she dared not voice, she turned to her father. "Dad, I have to take this."

"Be quick," he huffed.

With a quick nod, Sarah stood up and walked as quickly as elegance could allow out of the ballroom, through the lobby and out the front doors. Pressing the 'accept' button she placed the cool plastic of the phone to her flushed face. Her mouth dry with nervousness, she answered, "Hello. This is Sarah Williams."

"Yes, Ms. Williams, this is Mr. Scotts with the Full Moon Lounge on East Elm. We ran into a bit of a problem for tomorrow. One of our servers is unable to make it, and your application was the next under consideration. This isn't a fulltime job by any means, we are just short for Christmas night. I need an immediate answer from you if you want the job."

"Yes," Sarah breathed out, too happy to question the words out of his mouth, too ecstatic to doubt his sincerity, too joyful to wonder at perfection of the situation. "Yes, I'll do it," she exclaimed in an excited whisper, not wanting to break the sphere that had encased her full of her dreams.

"Glad to hear it," came his curt reply. "We need you at the Lounge by six for preparations and you'll be working until two. Nice black dress pants and shirt are required. Don't make me regret this."

Sarah smiled and nodded eagerly. Then, realizing he couldn't see her, said, "I won't disappoint you!"

"Very well. Remember six. Not a minute after. Good evening, Ms. Williams."

And with that the call was ended at one minute and thirteen seconds. Such a short call, but it held so much. Sarah clapped her hands to her mouth in an attempt to cover the laughter that was bubbling up in her. Turning her face to the clear night, she let the merriment pass her lips.

_Things are going right. There are finally going right. Maybe it's a sign that better things are on their way._

With a smile dancing across her face, Sarah turned and walked back into the lobby. As she reentered the ballroom, a plaintive piano melody began to turn gayer.


	3. Christmas Day

_Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock_

_Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring_

_Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun_

_Now, the jingle hop has begun_

Sarah let out a groan and stuffed her head farther into her pillow, trying to drown out her cheery, upstairs neighbor. And she thought it was bad when she only had a boyfriend over…

_Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell twist_

_Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time_

_Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square_

_In the frosty air_

Several other voices, varying in pitch, began to join in with her high voice neighbor, and Sarah buried her head deeper under the pillow.

_What a bright time, it's the right time_

_To rock the night away_

_Jingle bell time is a swell time_

_To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh_

Realizing her efforts at any more sleep were futile, the exhausted woman sat up and ran a hand through her surprisingly unmatted hair.

_Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet_

_Jingle around the clock_

_Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet_

_That's the jingle bell rock, yeah_

She turned her sleep crusted eyes to her bedroom ceiling, waiting for the grand finale.

_That's the jingle bell,_

_That's the jingle bell,_

_That's the jingle bell rock!_

Fits of laughter seized the multitude of occupants in the room above her as several people screeched off key. Sarah gave a small smile and shook her head. _I would've preferred more sleep_ , she thought, _but I'd rather waking up to those noises than others_.

Rubbing the palms of her hands against her eyes to remove the sleep that had crusted over then, she stood and shuffled towards the bathroom. She turned the faucet on and cupped her hands under the stream of cold water. She leaned over and tossed the water over her face. Grasping in shock at the cold slap in the face, she blindly reached out her hands searching for the hand towel. Her finger tips finally brushed across its soft surface and she clutched onto it. Sarah brought it to her face and hastily dried her face off.

After setting the towel back on the rack, she left the bathroom stretching her arms above her head, pulling her back taunt. With a contented sigh, she dropped her hands to her side and walked to the window. Peeling back the curtains, she let out a gasp of happiness. It had snowed! A gentle white dusting coated the ground, hiding everything. She looked up into the gray sky and spied the orange blob tucked away sleeping in a cocoon of clouds that was the sun. A small V of dots made a slow path across the wispy clouds. With a smile still dancing across her face, Sarah made her way into the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat.

Pulling out a stale muffin from the fridge, Sarah ran over a mental checklist for the day. _First, I need to get at Dad's and Karen's for eleven. Hopefully he doesn't ask, but if he does, I need to tell Toby that he will get his present tomorrow because I haven't been able to get him anything. I can stay there until four—maybe four thirty if things are going well. By five, I need to be back here to get dress to head over to the Full Moon Lounge. If the weather stays this way, as long as I leave here by five thirty I'll get there in time. Any change for the worst and I'd better add an extra half hour._

Her phone ringing brought the chestnut haired woman out of her preview of the day. Picking it up, she mumbled over a mouth full of dry muffin, "'Ello."

"Sarah, is that you?"

Rapidly swallowing and taking a quick swig of water, Sarah replied, "Yeah, Karen. Sorry, I was eating."

Her stepmother let out a frustrated sigh, but Sarah caught the slight laughter behind it. "How many times to I have to tell you not to talk and eat?"

"At least once more. So how are things going over there?"

"Quite well. I was calling to see if you were going to be able to bring a dish for dinner."

The bed tousled woman let out a groan and let her head fall against the cabinets. "Damn. I knew I forgot something."

"Language, Sarah!" her stepmother scolded. She gave an impatient sigh and continued, "Don't stress too much. I was expecting your forgetfulness. Besides, after the Gala last night, I doubted you were going to have time to cook anything decent."

"When do I ever have time to cook anything decent?" Sarah countered.

Karen gave her a brief laugh. "Alright, Sarah. I'll see you in a couple hours."

"See ya, Karen." Sarah hung up the phone and set it on the counter. She ran a hand over her face and through her hair.

"I need a shower," she muttered. Setting the rest of her muffin on the counter, she made her way back into the bathroom and turned the water on. As the warm water poured over her, Sarah began to work the knots out of her muscles from the previous night.

After she had returned to her seat next to her father, Jared G. King had already left the stage. Her eyes had scanned the room for him throughout the rest of the night, but she had never caught a glimpse of him again.

Until they left.

Then she had seen his tall, sturdy and supple form, his hair glowing in the moonlight, strutting down the sidewalk, away from the hotel. His head held high, a cane grasped firmly in his hand, though he never let it touch the ground; instead he slapped it against the side of his foot in time with his steps. Small shadows had darted about his feet and had shaken the shrubs lining the walks.

Sarah sighed and stuck her face in the warm stream. _It had to be him. Who else could it be?_ She had no doubt that it was him. She would be foolish is she tried to convince herself it was someone else. It would be a waste of time to wonder over his true identity. No, what was nagging at her was: _why? Why now? Why her again? Did he have some vendetta against her that he could now act on?_

The confused woman shook her head and blew water off her lips and she pushed her soaked hair from her face. _No. That's a stupid question. Of course he'd have a vendetta. I defeated him, didn't I? I'd be pissed, too._

With a sigh and clenched stomach, Sarah shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. She dried herself off and wrapped the towel around her naked body and tucked it in under her arms. Nibbling her lip in worry and fear, she emerged from her steam filled bathroom to rummage through her drawers for something to wear.

Her mind began to move from why to what. _What does he have planned? What is he going to do this time? He can't make me run the Labyrinth again, can he? I guess he's the king and can do what he wants, but I didn't wish any one away. And he can't do anything to me, he has no power over me! For Christ's sake, I defeated him already!_

Tears of frustration burned her eyes and she threw herself on her bed, desperately wanting a pair of warms arms to wrap around her and comfort her fears.

She had defeated him!

Why did he still haunt her?

What did he have to gain from this?

Why did she fear him?

What did she mean to him?

She had defeated him!

He should leave her alone!

Sarah choked back a sob and sat up, dashing away tears that risked spilling over. "No tears, Sarah," she chastised herself. "He doesn't deserve them. He has no power over you. Let him know it. He won't affect you. You don't need him."

_"… I doubt she needs me."_

"You had that right. I don't."

_"We do share such a similar dream."_

"No. No we don't."

_"The wonderful thing about a song is that, if played the right way, it can show you your dreams."_

Her breath hitched in her throat. His song. His song that was a dream. His song that said all her soul couldn't.

"Stop it, Sarah. He meant nothing by it. He said so himself. It was nothing more than a song, and that's all it will remain. Now pull yourself together; you're seeing Toby in almost an hour."

With a new found determination, Sarah stood from her bed and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a cream turtleneck from her drawers.

* * *

"Sawah!" was the only warning she received before a small framed body collided into hers with more force than she believed possible.

"Oof! Hello there, Toby!" She exclaimed as she knelt down to his level and wrapped her arms around him.

His slender arms snaked around her neck and squeezed her tightly. "Sawah, Sawah, Sawah! Guess what I got!" He buzzed excitedly in her ear.

A smile tugged at her lips as she pulled away to look into his bright, crystal blue eyes. "What did you get, Toby?"

"Look!" he shouted as he stuffed a toy car in her face.

"Wow! That's so cool!"

"I know, isn't it! What did you get, Sawah?"

The smile on Sarah's face faltered ever so slightly before it turned into a wicked grin as she reached out her arms for Toby. "You!" she exclaimed as she caught him around the waist and pulled him onto her lap before tickling every inch of exposed skin she caught sight of.

Toby rolled around fiercely in attempt to escape her, but she held him securely until he laid still in her lap, gasping for breath.

"Merry Christmas, Sarah dear."

Sarah looked upwards through a chestnut curtain to see her Aunt Shelly standing over her. Pulling Toby off her lap, she set him on his feet and he ran away with a gleeful squeal at escaping her clutches. Sarah stood and wrapped her arms around her aunt and pressed her winter bitten cheek against her aunt's warm one.

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Shelly." The younger woman took in a deep breath of the elder's cinnamon scent. Aunt Shelly was the only one from her mother's side of the family that kept in contact after the divorce, and she had several times kept Sarah sane throughout the whole process.

Her aunt pulled back and tucked a strand of hair behind her niece's ear, searching her face with her own green eyes that had dulled with age. "What's got you so worried, dear?"

She gave her aunt a weak smile and shoved the question off, before heading down the hall to greet her father and Karen.

* * *

Sarah had sat back on the plush couch, her eyes closed. Her stomach was full of good food, there was a crackling fire next to her sending her waves of warmth and Toby had played on the floor as Christmas music had blared from Karen's radio in the kitchen. She was content, fully and completely content for the first time in far too long.

But it didn't last long.

Toby had asked her the question she had been dreading the entire day. She knew he didn't mean anything by it which only cut into her more.

He had crawled on her lap and laid his head against her shoulder where it was still nestled. The whole house was silent except for Karen's Christmas music which she had turned down ever so slightly after hearing her son's question.

"Sawah, did you get me anything?"

The chestnut haired woman swallowed down the lump that was quickly rising in her throat. She pulled the young boy closer to her and placed her chin on top of his head. "No, Toby," she choked out. "I couldn't. But I will, okay. I will."

"Okay," came his small reply.

* * *

The numbing wind had no effect on her as she walked to the Full Moon Lounge. She was already thoroughly numbed emotionally; her body's numbness wasn't able to register. Sarah hadn't been able to stay much longer after telling Toby the truth. She had excused herself and headed back to her apartment despite it only being three in the afternoon. Dead from the events of the past couple days, she had fallen into a heap on her bed and cried herself into a fitful sleep, clutching her pillow to her to her chest.

Sarah pulled her jacket closer to her body as a fiercely cold wind tore over her and continued trudging on. A blaring blue neon sign, announced her arrival, and she walked into the Full Moon Lounge at 5:55.

The lounge was dark and barren. A few dim lamps glowed from their perches on the navy walls, and several black leather couches were scattered across the floor dark floor. An empty stage sat in the corner to her left with abandoned instruments, the center one of those being a simple piano. The air was stuffy and hazy with smoke.

A creak caught Sarah's attention. She glanced to her right and saw a black clad woman with a mop of black curls step out from a door. The woman's gaze fell on Sarah and her mouth made a small "o".

"Are you the new waitress?"

Sarah nodded. "For tonight."

The woman looked at a gold watch on her wrist. "You're early. The other's aren't here yet." She looked up to see worry begin to spread across the slender, chestnut haired woman's pale features. "No worries," she hastily exclaimed. "Mr. Scotts would much prefer you early than even a second late. I'll let him know you're here so he can go over house rules." The woman turned from her and pushed the door open before sharply turning back to face Sarah, her black curls bouncing around her face. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

"Sarah."

"Alli," she replied with a small smile. "Welcome to the family, even if it's only for one night."

And with that Sarah was left alone again. When a minute passed and Mr. Scotts still hadn't made an appearance, she wandered over to the stage. She stepped up onto it and trailed her fingers across the bare keys of the piano. A familiar tune floated back into her. She briefly thought of the old piano sitting in her apartment and wished it would once again play such music.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice drawled from behind her. "Sarah, is it?"


	4. Christmas Night

Deep silence fell between the two. Not a whisper of breath. Muted heartbeats. The woman turned around, her hand falling from the forgotten piano.

He stood in front of her. Barely three feet away. If she wanted, she could’ve reached out a hand brushed her fingertips against his shoulder. He had traded his previous black ensemble for clean black dress shoes, simple black slacks and a white, long-sleeved, button up shirt which he had rolled the sleeves up to just below his elbows and left the first three buttons undone, displaying a firm, pale chest. His black gloves were ever present.

And so were his eyes.

_Those eyes._ His mismatched eyes that burned so fiercely.

But his face. It was still duller, lacking.

“Y-yes,” she tripped out, her vocal chords briefly forgetting how to work properly.

He cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Fancy meeting you here, Sarah.”

The way he said her name. _Dear God_ , _this man is something to fear_.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned in as harsh a tone as she could muster.

He gestured to the piano behind her with a flourish. “Need I explain?”

“You’re working here?”

“Come, come, Sarah,” he scolded her, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m surprise at you. Perhaps I’ve given you too much credit. I’d expect you to be a touch cleverer.”

It all clicked into place then. _She_ was surprised at _him_ for not hearing the gears linking together. _He_ was working here. _She_ just happened to get a last minute job.

“You did this, didn’t you? It was all you, wasn’t it! Can I no longer expect to do anything for myself without you rushing in to take care of it for me? I didn’t even say ‘I wish’. How could you go and do something—,”

“Sarah,” he warned.

“No, I don’t even want to hear it.”

“Sarah, I have been generous. But that ended when you refused me. I have _done_ nothing for you. You did this all on your own, precious.”

His endearment for her slipped over her and sent unwanted shivers down her spine. _Precious._ She opened her mouth to send him a scathing reply when the door opened across the room and burly man with thick, red curls stumbled out.

“It’s six o’clock. Anyone who walks through that door now is late!” he cried in a voice that Sarah knew as Mr. Scotts. “Mr. King,” he continued, “please head to your piano and be sure all is in order for your performance, and please, stop flirting with my workers.”

The proud King smirked at Mr. Scotts and clasped his hands behind his back. “I shall do so this very instant. However, I cannot give you my promise on the latter matter.” His eyes flicker slyly over the blossomed woman next to him.

Mr. Scotts guffawed at his remark and waved a hand at him, “Be on your way then! There’s too much busy work for those antics now.”

He gave the man a brief nod and turned away. He took slow, deliberate steps towards the piano behind Sarah. He passed too far for him to touch her, but so tantalizingly close that she could feel the warmth of his skin and her resolve crumbling.

“Sarah!” Mr. Scotts barked at her. “If you would stop ogling the piano player for a minute, you could come over here and learn the rules for the job it appears only you and Alli are serious about.”

The man’s words and the snicker behind her induced a pink flush to blossom up her neck and over her cheeks. Stepping off the stage, she walked with a confident air to Mr. Scotts. She stopped in front of him and he raked his eyes over her. He gave a small grin and nodded.

“You’ll do fine. Remove your coat.” The moment her eyes began to widen, he hastily continued on, “So that I can ensure you are dressed appropriately.”

Sarah nodded and unbuttoned her coat. She slid it off her shoulders and held it in behind her back so that he could see her black dress pants and black blouse.

He gave her a stiff nod. “It’ll do. Follow me. We have to clean this place and put up some holiday decorations before eight. Quickly now,” he turned on his heel and disappeared through the door.

With a quick glance over her shoulder at the mismatched eye man, she followed Mr. Scotts through the door. She tried to focus on his instructions, but the only thing that managed to stay in her mind was the image of the lithe man, standing over the piano clutching music sheets in his hands so tightly they were beginning to crease.

* * *

_A present for Toby. A present for Toby_ : a small phrase that quickly became Sarah’s mantra for that night. The crowded room was suffocating her. Every time she had to deal with a drunken oaf or a lecherous comment or an intrusive caress, she smiled and politely excused herself chanting away.

_A present for Toby._

_A present for Toby._

An oily man slid up next to her and draped an arm over her shoulder. His stale breath washed over her face.

  _A present for Toby._

“Hey, sweetie. ‘Ow ‘bout you’n’I get ou’ o’ tissss ‘ell ‘ole?” he sloppily slurred into her ear.

  _A present for Toby_.

She flashed him what she hoped didn’t look like a strained smile and said through clenched teeth, “How lovely! Why don’t you sit down and I’ll find somewhere to put this tray down?”

He gave her a slow wink and stumbled off.

Sarah blew a stray tendril of hair out of her eye. Alli had advised her that it was best to let them think they were getting what they wanted. “They pass out within a minute of their request,” she explained. So far, her words had not failed the newbie.

Tucking the tray under her arm, she wove her way in between the sticky, sweating bodies and slipped into the kitchen.

Which wasn’t any calmer.

Darren and May, the two chefs, yelled at each other as they flew around the kitchen perfecting their concoctions for the night. Other servers also crammed into the small room for a brief reprieve from the demands outside in the lounge.

As Sarah set the tray down to refill it with drinks, the strands of a plaintive piano melody washed over her.

_That song._

It briefly turned into a gayer tune, but as she set the tray on her shoulder and made her way back into the undulating throng, teeth clenching disgust, nervousness entered its notes. Steeling herself against the sway that his song had over her and plastering a smile on her face, she entered the bray once again.

* * *

The night was dragging on and every fiber in her body was threatening to give out on her. The smoke infested air was clawing at her lungs and throat and weariness pulled at her eyelids.

_A present for Toby._

Once Sarah deposited her last drink in the sausage link fingers of a pot belly man smothered in a couch, she turned onto her heel and slammed her face into a firm and partially exposed chest. The exhausted woman bit back a yelp of surprise.

“Well, well, precious. How are you enjoying the evening?” His warm breath brushed across the top of her head, rustling loose strands of hair.

Unconsciously she gripped the tray tighter in her hands until her knuckles glowed white. She dared to look up and meet his glittering, laughed creased eyes with her own firmly set ones.

“What? No retort? I really am disappointed in you.” He lifted a leather clad hand and traced her cheek with one cool finger. “Where’s that fiery passion? That blind confidence?”

“It’s no longer blind,” she bit out.

He threw his head back and gave a deep throated chuckle, flashing sharper than normal teeth. For a moment, his face shifted and showed the man she knew underneath before it reverted back to its duller form. His mismatched eyes—ever the same—refocused on her face and he said with a smirk, “In confidence perhaps, but in several other areas, I fear that you, dear Sarah, are still as blind as your fifteen old self.”

Sarah momentarily pushed aside the insult to ask him a question that had been nagging at the back of her mind. “Why do you look so different? So human?”

“A glamour, my dear. Nothing more,” he drawled.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted as the pounding music shifted into a slower Christmas ballad. Green eyes scanned the room and observed the multiple couples latching onto each other to sway together until they ended their round on the man before her.

The Goblin King stood before Sarah, his power and confidence dripping like honey from his frame. He wrapped his long fingers around her cold hands and pried them off the tray.

She opened her mouth to protest, but a stern glance from him kept her silent. He removed the tray from her hands and set it on the ground, leaning it against the wall. Taking her hands back in his, he led her into the center of the throng of people.

Her eyes never leaving his stunning frame, she protested, “I have to work. Did you get this job for me for the sole purpose of torturing me?”

He turned on her, eyes blazing, as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her flush up against him. Holding one of her hands at eye level, he smirked at her and stated, “I informed you earlier that I had no intervention in you getting this job.”

“But then how are you so conveniently here?” she retorted.

“I never denied intervention on the aspect of _myself_ getting this job.”

She furrowed her brow and glowered at him which only led to him chuckling. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers, his warm breath gliding over her face. “Don’t do that, precious. It ruins your beautiful face.”

The beautiful woman in his arms clamped her mouth shut as he pulled her tightly into him and led her through the movements of his sinuous dance.

As they continued their dance in a solidary bubble, Sarah became increasingly aware of the leering eyes and lecherous comments that began to turn her way. Her bright eyes turned to those of her partner’s and saw a hard glint had steeled his eyes. He was aware of them too. The out-of-place woman began to pull away from the man who held her firmly, but he simply tightened his grip in response.

He bent his head towards her, his lips grazed her ear as he whispered so only she could hear, “What do you say, precious, shall we leave this intrusive company? I’m not in a mood to allow you to part with me mid-dance again because of an uncomfortable situation.”

“B-but I have to work,” his precious stumbled out.

“Do you forget who I am? Such a trifling matter is easily remedied,” he calmly told her. He pulled away from her and drew her to his side. He entwined her arm around his and led her from the rapidly increasing tempo of the undulating movements of the crowded dance floor.

As he pulled her towards the door, Mr. Scotts voice broke over the music, barely audible to those not within five feet. “Where are you two hurrying off to?”

The Goblin King turned towards him, teeth bared and eyes flashing. “Ms. Williams is taking her five minute break.”

Mr. Scotts spluttered out, “She doesn’t get one. We’re short.”

The King quirked an eyebrow and glanced over the Lounge’s occupants. “They seem to be content. Five minutes with one less server won’t devastate them.” His eyes hardened and became cruel as they fell on Mr. Scotts. “You, however, may briefly fall short in your ability to fulfill your perversion.”

Mr. Scotts blanched and gaped, flailing like a fish out of water.

“If you wish for me to play a last number, I suggest you allow Ms. Williams five minutes to rest. I’m sure playing up to your fantasies are exhausting her.”

“Well, I never—,”

“Come, come, man!” he scolded. “You may say nothing out loud, but your intentions are not lost on me. Perhaps on her because her blindness, but not on me. And if, at any part throughout the rest of tonight, you continue on so rashly, don’t put it past me to thrash you within an inch of your life,” he hissed out through clenched teeth, his voice feral and dangerously low.

The woman on his arm stood mouth agape, staring on in horror and confusion.

The burly, red-headed man came to his senses and pointed a short finger at the King in front of him. “You,” he hissed. “If you want to be paid for this job, I suggest you shut your damn mouth and get back to that piano.”

The King smirked. “Your money holds no value to me.”

A dark glint flickered in the fumed man’s eyes. “Then what about the girl? You’ve got a soft spot for her, eh? Not too fond of sharing? If you don’t get on that damn stage and play another effing song, you won’t want her after I’m through with her.”

The smirk fell from the King’s face and a dark glower took ahold of his features. He withdrew Sarah’s arm from his, and for a brief moment she was afraid that he was going to leave her.

And leave her he did.

He stepped away from her.

And punched Mr. Scotts square in the gut.

Mr. Scotts doubled over his fist and let out a rush of air. The King leaned over the crumpled figure and whispered in his ear. “You dare lay a finger on her and I swear to you that the living torment you will experience will have you begging for a death that I won’t grant. I won’t be that merciful on you.”

With a harsh jerk, he removed his fist from the man’s gut who then tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He turned back to Sarah, mismatched eyes blazing, and rested a gloved hand at the small of her back. “Where’s your coat?” he asked impatiently.

“The kitchen,” she muttered, still in a state of shock.

He gave a curt nod and led her to the kitchen. He slipped the coat over her small frame and brought her back into the Lounge. His eyes focused on the door ahead as he quickly strutted across the room and ushered Sarah out the door into the cool night air.

* * *

The brisk night air bit at Sarah’s exposed skin and sent shivers throughout her body as her teeth began to chatter. A warm arm enclosed her shoulders and pulled her into a warm body. He didn’t say anything, and she didn’t say anything. He just held her close and she just enjoyed the waves of heat that his body was giving off.

The silent night was punctured by several lower snickers.

“Is that the girl?” questioned a rough voice from somewhere to her right.

“Shut up!” hissed several other voices in unison.

Sarah jumped and looked around them and saw nothing but shadows. She pushed the voices to the back of her mind and snuggled back into the warmth.

“Kingy’s with the girl!”

 “The girl who ate the peach?”

“The girl with the dream?”

"Yes, now, SHUT UP!” hissed a commanding voice.

 “Do you hear that?” the woman whispered to her companion who let out a deep chuckle.

 “I fear my subjects don’t like being left alone for long spans of times. I daresay they were rather curious as well.”

 A shadow darted across the sidewalk and dodged behind a bush. “So, we’re surrounded by goblins?”

 “Is that not what I just said, precious?” he asked in response.

 Sarah fell into an embarrassed silence, and the two continued their journey down the sidewalk. With each step, she became further aware of his arm draped possessively around her shoulder, of his calm and steady breathing, of the warmth that was pouring off him that was so wonderful in comparison to the cold air that nipped at her. Tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, she cleared her throat and stepped out from his arm. She took a few quick steps away from him and turned back to face him.

 The Goblin King had his hands resting on his hips, head cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised to his hairline. His eyes blazed in the darkness.

 She turned her eyes to the sidewalk, and she stuffed her chilled hands in her coat pockets.

 “Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

 “Sarah—,” he pleaded.

 “No. It was nice see you, but as you said, I don’t need you anymore.”

“Sarah,” his voice took on a hard edge.

 “’What’s said is said’, right?”

He took a step and closed the distance she had put between them. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face to look at him. His eyes looked down into hers, blazing with an intensity that stirred fear in Sarah’s heart.

 “Sarah, don’t,” he began harshly, but she had enough of him, enough of his antics.

_For Christ’s sake, can’t he just leave me alone? His help was appreciated but I didn’t need it!_

“’Don’t defy me’! Hmm? Well, guess what, Jareth, your games are growing old!”

A strange look fluttered across his eyes, but Sarah paid it no mind, she continued on, everything built up finally spilling over.

“I defeated you! You have no power over me! So why can’t you just leave me the hell alone?” Sarah tried to swallow a lob that was lodged in her throat. Tears burned her eyes and the face of the King before her blurred.

“Why?” she choked out. “Why can’t you just leave my head? Why can’t you just leave me alone? How is it that you never fail to flash through my mind every day? What did you do to me?!”

Everything broke. Every dam. Every wall. Every pushed aside thought and memory. The distressed woman broke into a fit of heavy sobs.

Fierce hands seized her shoulders and pulled her into a warm chest. Sarah grasped ahold of the shirt that cloaked it and buried her face into it. Strong arms wrapped around her and a heavy chin rested lightly on top of her head.

“Shh-shh-shh,” a quiet voice chanted above her. “My dear, dear Sarah, you have been lonely for far too long, standing on your own, not allowing anyone to help you. That was all I ever tried to do. You had such a burden on you that you suffered through silently; all I wanted to do was relieve you, if only for a brief moment.”

“You took my brother,” Sarah mumbled into his shirt.

His chest shook with a small laugh. “Yes, precious, but _you_ wished it. I only wished to give you what you wanted. I know too well what it is like to have an impossible burden on you but to have no one to help share the yoke. I, too, know what it is like to be lonely and desire someone so fiercely to share your life with.”

“But—,” Sarah started to protest, pulling away from his arms.

“I may be a well-off man but I live a lonely life, Sarah,” he stated, rubbing a black clad thumb under her eyes removing the wet trails the tears had made across her face.

“But you have the Labyrinth, and the goblins—,” she said, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

“I assure that those pests hardly qualify as company. They have their moments of entertainment of course,” he hastily proclaimed loudly as the bushes began to quiver and exclaim “Kingy no loves us!”, “but they certainly do not—stimulate—the senses. They don’t stave off the loneliness that claws at my heart, precious.” He grasped a strand of her hair gently between his thumb and forefinger and twirled it.

Sarah bit her lip as his words began to sink in. “So the song—,”

“Was nothing more than that, but I played what you desired, what I desired. I played our dreams, our hearts, our souls.”

“The wonderful thing about a song is that, if played the right way,” she began.

“It can show you your dreams,” he finished. He gentle took the strand of hair in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear.

“My dreams,” the flushed woman whispered.

He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against her forehead sending thrills through Sarah. “Our dreams,” he responded. “They are so alike,” he whispered warmly against her skin. “They are entwined, entangled, impossible to separate.”

A cacophony of snickers and whistles broke the two from their bubbled moment. The man whirled to face behind him—eyes aflame—and firmly declared, “Be quiet or I will bog every last one of you!” He turned back to his companion with his eyes still blazing.

Sarah stepped away from him, and the King’s eyes dimmed. For a moment he looked as he had back when she said those damned words. Taking a shuttering breath, she steeled herself for the words that she knew had to be said. “You had no power over me when I was fifteen, and to this day you still don’t. But, despite that, you—you stayed with me. You may have had no power, but that didn’t drive you from my side, even if your presence was less than desirable at times. You never did anything, but you stayed there, for support. And for that, for not leaving my side, I thank you—Jareth.”

As his name rolled off her tongue, the man’s gaze softened and he held out his hand for hers. “And I never will leave it. Shall I bring you home, precious?”

With a fluttering heart, the tear-stained woman clutched onto the lithe man’s hand, never looking more beautiful. Side-by-side the two walked down the street to Sarah’s apartment as gentle snowflakes began to float down.

* * *

Sarah’s keys jangled as she opened her apartment door and flipped the light on. She glanced over her shoulder at the man who stood there. “You can come in for a moment, if you want to.”

Jareth gave her a gentle smirk and stepped into the apartment behind her, shutting the door as her did so.  As Sarah shrugged her coat off and hung it on the nail on the side of the door, he wandered across the living room to the old piano that sat in the corner against the wall. He tenderly ran a hand over the old keys, a small crease between his eyebrows distorting his perfect face.

Sarah walked up behind him and explained, “I found it about a year ago, beat up on a curb down the road. I took pity on the old thing. I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t pay the price and I didn’t trust the man.”

The blonde man hesitantly pressed down on one of the keys and a jarring note shook the apartment. “Old and neglected, much like myself,” he remark. He turned his head to face the woman standing at his side and whispered, “It, however, had the fortune of being cared for by your loving hands.”

Light flush crept across her cheeks under his blazing gaze. She reached out a hand and lovingly stroked the keys.

“I only wish that she was able to play again.” Sarah eye’s widened as the words fell from her mouth.

_I wish…_


	5. The Morning After Christmas

The chestnut haired woman arose from her unconscious slumber in a bundle of warmth. Her limbs were resting on a cloud of comfort and smooth sheets covered her. Her head slowly rose and fell on a firm but wonderfully warm and soft pillow. Fingers stroked her hair, twisting and entwining themselves amongst the strands sending a buzz through her body. She turned onto her side and her cheek brushed against a smooth fabric and a rich, tantalizing smell slipped into her nostrils.

Sarah snapped her eyes open and was greeted with the sight of a pale expanse of skin. Rapidly blinking, she jumped up and would have fallen off the couch if a pair of strong arms hadn’t snaked around her waist and held onto her firmly.

“Careful,” a voice purred into her ear. “You don’t want to bruise that beautiful face of yours, precious.”

Sarah twisted her head and looked into a pair of mismatched eyes set in the sharply angled face of Jareth. Her green eyes scanned her current predicament and saw that the two of them were sitting on her couch. Well, Jareth was sitting on it, his back pressed against the armrest, and she lay in between his legs with her white sheet draped over her body. One of his legs was propped up, knee bent, resting against the back of the couch; the other stretched out lazily in front of him. And she was comfortably nestled between them, leaning against his chest.

She bit her lip and a hot flush spread across her skin as she realized how she had spent the last few hours sleeping, but more so at how comfortable and _natural_ it felt. He chuckled quietly and her reaction and pressed the back of a cool gloved hand against her burning cheek.

“No worries, precious.” He tightened his arms around her and pulled her back to his chest, and she willingly allowed him to do so.

She nestled her cheek on his smooth, warm skin and curled up her hands under her chin. The content woman stretched out her legs and realized that her shoes were no longer covering her feet.

As if sensing her question, he whispered in her ear, “I thought you would be more comfortable without your shoes, so I slipped them off when I laid you down. They’re on the floor.”

“W-what happened last night?” Sarah stumbled out, afraid of his answer.

His chest shook with laughter and she felt his lips press against her hair on top of her head. “Your wish, precious. Nothing more.”

“But how—?”

“You were tired,” he mumbled against her head. “I let you sleep. I couldn’t begrudge you such a small thing. I simply made you comfortable.” Sarah felt his smirk against her hair. “I assure you that you offered no objections when I laid you on me.”

The chestnut haired woman felt the strong blush flare up again: her entire body burned with it.

He chuckled again, shaking Sarah in a way that she found more comfortable than she would like to admit. “Forgive me, precious. I just love when you blush; I couldn’t resist.”

“N-nothing,” Sarah stumbled over.

“Nothing happened, dear Sarah, except that you were able to get some much deserved sleep.”

Content with the news, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy her position. Stretching once more, she felt his body pressed against her and an internal shiver coursed through her body. Her toes met another’s sending another thrill through her body. She bit the inside of her cheek as she rubbed her toes against his sock clad feet. Jareth responded by tightening his grip on her and rubbing his toes against hers.

Another few precious moments were theirs before another thought struck her. She hastily untangled herself from his arms and sat up, her eyes flying to the piano against the wall in the corner. Though it was still old and worn with age, it was intact, the keys and wood clean and neat.

Sarah jumped off the couch and ran to the piano. Hope fluttered in her breast and she hesitantly reached out to touch the keys, but withdrew her hand in fear. She heard a rustle of clothing and a warm body stopped at her elbow.

“Go on,” he whispered in her ear.

Biting her lip, she reached out a shaky hand and pressed a white, gleaming key down. A clear, sweet note reverberated throughout her apartment. A smile spread across her face and she twirled around, throwing her arms around Jareth’s neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she whispered fiercely into his ear.

His arms wrapped around her and he gave a brief squeeze. He laughed quietly into her ear, his warm breath brushed over the side of her face. “You’re quite welcome, precious.”

“Mmm,” she hummed happily. “I could get used to you calling me that. I’ll miss it.”

“Miss it?” He pulled back and quirked an eyebrow.

She shyly nodded and retracted her arms from his neck. Sarah turned back to face her piano. “You’ve done what you needed to do. You were here for me when I needed it, just like last time, even though it took so long for me to realize it. As you said last night, the goblins don’t like being alone for long. Your Labyrinth will need you. I can’t keep you. It would be selfish of me to do so. Don’t get me wrong, I wish—” Sarah caught herself before she finished, she bit her lip as she stroke the piano keys.

“Sarah,” he implored her.

“Play the end of my—our—song.”

His warm body pressed against her back and his arms wrapped around her. His lithe fingers wrapped around her wrists and set her hands against the piano keys. “Tell me how this ends.”

“But I can’t play—,”

His fingers spread out her shorter fingers and settled themselves lightly on top of hers. “Play,” he commanded.

Sarah’s heart beat against her ribcage and her mouth went dry. She didn’t know what to do. _I can’t play the piano. I can’t play any instrument. How can he expect me to finish the song?_ The blood rushed through her veins, pounding in her ears a rapid and fluttering rhythm. In that moment of panic, an idea struck her.

Taking a chance, she flipped her hands over until the underside of her bare hands met his leather clad ones. “Take your gloves off.”

“Sarah—,” he began to protest.

“You wanted an end, didn’t you?”

After a brief pause, his hands lifted from hers and they disappeared behind her. When he moved to bring them forward again, Sarah quickly shut her eyes. The opportunity to see his bare hands was an intimate moment that scared her.

Her pulse quickened as she felt smooth, warm skin press against her open palms. A content sigh slipped passed her lips. His hands felt _wonderful_.

“Precious, how is this an end to the song?”

Before her resolve could fail her, Sarah entwined her fingers through his and pressed their wrists together, ensuring that he could feel her fluttering heartbeat.

He let out a small gasp and Sarah felt his heartbeat quickly step in rhythm with hers.

“It’s the only instrument I have.”

“Sarah,” came a broken and choked voice.

“I’m sorry, Jareth. I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize how—how alike we were. We really did have the same dream. To be cared for and care for, to be loved and to love, to have a companion. But, I can’t allow—,”

His hands slipped out of hers and cool air rushed over her palms. Her heart seized, afraid he left. But his hands soon reappeared on her shoulders and they coaxed her to turn around. Sarah looked up into his mismatched eyes, no longer hiding the passion that glowed within.

Jareth pulled her into him and encased her in his arms. She pressed her cheek against his warm chest and listened to his fluttering heartbeat that perfectly matched her own. A long finger pressed under her chin and tilted her face upwards. He gave her a small smile as he gently pressed his lips to hers. His warm fingers grazed her jaw as they entwined themselves in her long chestnut hair. As his fingers played within her hair against her scalp, she was finally very thankful for her hair just as it was.

Sarah clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him closer to her. Her fingertips brushed gently against his bare chest, and a fire surged in her. She pushed her hands up his chest and clutched onto his shoulders, arching into him and deepening kiss.

For the first time, she didn’t feel content.

She felt whole.

She felt complete.

She felt a part of something.

And the man whose lips so desperately clung to hers felt the same emotions stirring in his heart.

And so the two stood entwined in each other, oblivious to the warm morning dawning to banish the cold night, their warm hearts beating between them gentle music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Their story continues in "A Kissing Game"!


End file.
